


The Coward

by amell



Series: Traitor King [1]
Category: Regrets of the Traitor - Apollo S. (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, Friends to Enemies, Heroes to Villains, Interrogation, OC: Rollo Moonsmith, Other, Possibly Unrequited Love, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, for now at least lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amell/pseuds/amell
Summary: "You knew that it was probably a long shot to just make up; say you're sorry for everything you put him through, but you wanted to try. And this is your reward."You want to beg him for forgiveness. Like he would ever give it to you.
Relationships: The Traitor (Regrets of the Traitor) & Arke Duskstriker (Regrets of the Traitor)
Series: Traitor King [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610290
Kudos: 10





	The Coward

**Author's Note:**

> aka I fell in love with this game and its characters.
> 
> check out the blog @regrets-of-the-traitor-game on Tumblr!

You wake up, heart pounding, throat dry. Meeting with them is always… interesting, especially after yesterday. You wince. You ache all over, though that’s a given. Hauling yourself upright, you battle nausea as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, dragging a hand down your face. Another day begins.

Your side is still throbbing, although less than before. Stumbling like you’re drunk, you make your way to the washbin in the corner of the room, splashing at your face. It doesn’t make you much cleaner, but it does wake you up.

The man who stares back at you in the water looks tired. You huff, mouth twitching into a smile. You are tired, but there’s work to be done. Wincing, you wipe yourself down, gingerly pressing around your wound. The faint pinkish scar on your chest is still sensitive, but Herron is a good doctor. For a moment, you admire yourself. You never could have believed you’d get this far. Your ribs certainly liked the change. To be able to breathe fully again, without fear of being mistaken for someone you weren’t…

It was intoxicating. Wincing as you brushed a hand through your hair, you almost smile. He would have been so happy for you, seeing you live so comfortably.

You shake your head. Those thoughts made you weak. That life was over. You had to accept that.

You stood, dressing quickly. Herron was expecting you, and you hated being late. At least the visit would keep your mind busy. You brush your fingers through your hair, looking at yourself in the vanity. The dark robes change you, as adorned with gold and silver as they are. You barely recognize yourself these days. The people are still frightened by you, you know that. Your nose wrinkles. Did they have to add a cape? Surely, they didn’t want their leader tripping and falling to his death. Oh. Maybe that was the point. You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head. Rollo Moonsmith, Queenslayer, Traitor King, killed after tripping over his cape. At least it would be funny.

* * *

Cursing internally, you bite your lip and steel yourself. You should have known that he would have some sort of trick up his sleeve. You had underestimated him again, hadn’t you? Ar- _Duskstriker_ wasn’t your friend. Both of you had years to accept what had happened. Of course, he would have gotten smarter, or at least gotten less naïve. Duskstriker isn’t the man you knew, the man you had practically grown up with. The man you may have loved. He had changed. _You_ had changed. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, and you swallow, bringing yourself back to the conversation. No time to focus on things like that here. You had a job to do.

* * *

The dungeons make your skin crawl. This was never where you wanted to see him. He probably wouldn’t say the same about you. You cross your arms over your chest, biting at the inside of your cheek. Maybe you should have brought Herron or Severa. Herron would stop you from doing something stupid. Severa would be better at getting answers out of him. But here you are. Alone. Like an idiot.

He looks wild, teeth bared, face bloodied. You feel your heart stutter for a moment as you watch his struggle in his chains. You want to hold him so bad. Cup his stupid face in your hands, release him, heal his wounds. You almost laugh. He would kill you. Rip your throat out, leave you to bleed out down here. Spit on your corpse, swear at you. And you know would forgive him, even though he will never forgive you.

He’s looking at you like he expects you to make the first move, eyes darting across you. Noticing everything that he didn’t see with the armour in the way. The thought of Arke’s eyes would have made you blush once, long ago. Now it just makes you grimace. He’s seeing you vulnerable, just like you’re seeing him.

He looks handsome with a beard. It ages him, but it also makes him look rugged the prick. How does he look this good in a fucking cell of all places?

“Here you are, Rollo.” His voice almost makes you flinch, but you hold yourself steady. You are in control, you remind yourself. Fuck, you’re all over the place. This was a terrible idea. You should have brought someone with you.

“It’s been a long time,” You say, mentally kicking yourself. You need to be thinking about the sword, not feeling that should have been long gone. “Old friend.” The hurt that flashes across his eyes makes you feel strange, and you swallow, shifting into the persona you’ve been using. It’s easier to be charming, and pretend like you’re just having a conversation between friends than

“Don’t bullshit me, Rollo.” He says, voice low, and you bite your tongue, a sharp pain blooming in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” You say after a moment, and you want to beg him for forgiveness. Like he would ever give it to you.

“Yes, because an apology from you means so much these days.” He’s glaring at you now, and you have to force yourself to stay calm. Arke is angry, eyes darkened with hatred, snarling like the wolf they’ve chained him up as. “Just tell me what you want. Don’t all Queen slayers have something they need from their prisoners or are you the type of enjoys watching people squirm?” Your eyes sting, and you force your mask back on, heart thumping wildly in your chest. Averting your eyes, you breathe slowly.

“Information.”

“Oh? Colour me surprised.” Arke snaps, looking up at you, teeth bared. He has nothing left to lose. Defiance in his eyes, he smirks up at you, and you have to steel yourself. You will not show him weakness. Not again. “What, pray tell, do you want to know? I’m all ears, your grace.” You have to bite back a snide remark, anger burning inside of you. Fuck him. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you let your anger fizzle out, dulling to an ache inside of you.

“Stop being a child.” You school your face into the image of boredom, Arke’s eyes boring into your own. He will not goad you into hitting him, no matter how much you want to. You refuse to be the only adult here. Arke huffs out a laugh, the sound bitter in your ears.

“Coward.” He mutters. You can’t help but agree. Arke’s shoulders slump, and he hangs his head, lost in his thoughts. You take the moment to rub a hand over your forehead, staring down at Arke’s figure. Fuck. You’re both so much older than you had ever thought you’d get. You ask him about the sword, and he doesn’t seem to understand.

“The weapon you used,” You say firmly, “Along with a lovely little scar I’ll have if I survive, it also gave me some sort of magic wasting disease.” Arke’s eyes widen, almost comically, at that, and you internally groan. He didn’t know. What was he even being told in that little rebellion of his? Not enough for a former hero.

“I… see.” Arke’s gaze hardens, and you want to laugh a little. He had changed. Good to know that he wasn’t the same fool you had grown up with. “It… must have been a mistake.” Ah, yes. A mistake. How very thoughtful of the rebellion – sending their most-loved warrior out to kill the traitor king with a hexed weapon and not telling him that it was hexed? Wonderful. Fantastic. Three cheers for the rebellion.

“So you know nothing.” You say, rubbing your hand over your mouth, irritation building in your gut. This is getting you nowhere, and even though you lo- have strong feelings for Arke, he isn’t helping you.

“Maybe.” His head hangs again, his voice sounding small. “I can’t help you. I didn’t know…” Your hands twitch, wanting to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. Instead, you fold your arms across your chest, grimacing. Stupid, naïve Arke. Why hadn’t he learned to ask questions, especially after what you did? What that damned elf had done? You grit your teeth, head beginning to ache. If weakness is shown, people will exploit it. You know this. You know that Arke knows this.

“Then what can you tell me about the people you’re working with?” You blink as Arke’s head snaps up, golden gaze

“Nothing. He says, voice low. “Not for you. What we were is not what we are now and you will do well to remember that.” You felt a stab of pain in your chest and you wince, but Arke has already turned his head away, eyes focused on the ground. "Wolfe would not have wanted this for you." Your hands curl to fists, and you feel all your anger rushing back. How dare he use your father like that.

“You don’t get to say that to me.” You hiss, and you want to punch him right in his smug face. You’re shaking, and he must see that at least, but you push the anger away and down where it can be used as a weapon. Letting your hands uncurl, you sigh, biting your tongue. “You’re not exactly in the position to be trying my patience, _Arke_.” He grimaces as you say his name, and it feels good. You swallow. Shit. You never wanted to enjoy hurting him but… Fuck. Things are complicated. He brought up Wolfe, so you can use his name now, right?

“Maybe. But I have principles, unlike someone I know.” He stares right up at you and you press your mouth into a fine line. Prick.

“And Blackhearth? When we left you promised me-“

“-Arke.” You grind your teeth, irritation bubbling up inside of you.

“No, you _promised_ me that we wouldn’t stop until we’d wiped out those that hurt us!” Arke’s voice is louder now, and you almost scowl. He’s angry, but at you, a feeling that you haven’t seen since you travelled together, so long ago. When Arke got angry he almost got feral, baring his teeth and attempting to rip you to shreds. It’s so like him to do that, to get angry, that you almost laugh, fond memories floating to the surface of your thoughts.

“That was a long time ago, Arke.” You say, watching him glare at you, gaze filled with venom. There’s so much between you, both past and present that you wonder if you could ever be friends again.

He doesn’t answer your questions, which is a given. Arke just glares up at you, those golden eyes daring you to hit him, yell at him, anything. You won’t give in to the temptation, no matter how strong it is. It’s almost like the competitive streak inside you has opened again, wanting to beat Arke, no matter the cost. He pushes, you pull, and your dancing around each other's words, daring the other to make their move. 

“Why are you doing this?’ You ask, and it’s an honest question for once. He’s been left behind by his companions, the rebellion. Would they dare risk attacking your castle as Arke had? Not likely. He wasn’t loosening his tongue; in fact, he was choosing his words carefully, looking to prod at old wounds you had pushed down inside yourself.

“Why are you doing this?” He mimics back to you, nose scrunching as he sneers. “I, personally, had to see for myself just how low you’d fallen. Guess I was naïve for thinking you weren’t the monster everyone says you are.” You bite your cheek, watching as he grinds his jaw, anger almost spilling out. 

There’s another round of questioning, and Arke is stubbornly holding everything back, daring you towards your limits. It’s something he’s well-trained at, although he’s rusty due to years of disuse. He still makes you grit your teeth, however, and you wonder briefly during a moment of silence, what exactly you should do with him. Some will expect him to be dead, Arke himself included. But you can’t do that to him. Plus, there must be other reasons for keeping him around, right? Maybe you could negotiate with the rebellion or something. You turn away from him, rubbing at your temples. Behind you, you can hear the chains rattling as Arke slumps down, and you frown. He can’t be comfortable here. You aren’t.

Glancing outside the cell, you ponder your options. You haven’t gotten anything from him - and you probably won’t unless you do something drastic. Eyes landing on the torch outside of Arke’s cell, you grimace. You could…

No. 

Even after everything the two of you had been through, you won’t do that to him. You don’t want to torture. You don’t want to become a monster, although some would say you already were. Sighing, you run a hand through your hair, before exiting the cell.

“The all-seeing eye sees more than they say,” Arke says as you turn your back on him, hiding the grimace that his words bring to you. You don’t even know what that means. He’s probably just being an ass. Finding your way back to the castle grounds brings relief. You don’t know if you can go back down there again, even with someone else. 

You sigh, the emotional hurt beginning to drag your mind down a spiral. Dragging your hand across your face, you look around the courtyard. Maybe you should go see Spotter about the training you promised them. It would help you take your mind off of things.

Brushing aside the exhaustion you feel slowly creeping up on you, you find your way to one of Spotter’s usual haunts, mind drifting back to Arke. You’ll figure out what to do with him tomorrow.


End file.
